Russian Roulette
by wallyswest
Summary: "Love is for children, Yasha. You know that." "Then let's be children, Izabella." - In which two brainwashed assassins cross paths several times over their years as assets. [Pre - Post Captain America: The Winter Soldier]
1. Intro

_**INTRO**_

* * *

" _One, two, three,_

 _just pull the_ ** _trigger_** _._ "

* * *

Isabella Emilia Voshkov. Weapon. Brainwashed. Glory of Solaris. The High Priestess.

James Buchanan Barnes. Asset. Wiped. Fist of Hydra. The Winter Soldier.

When two of the world's most deadly ghost stories cross paths for the first time, it will begin a series of chance meetings and events that will rattle the very foundations of everything that they've ever known.

* * *

" _Love is for children, Yasha. You know that._ "

" _Then let's be children, Izabella._ "

* * *

They're playing a dangerous game, and the only thing that's certain is that no one is leaving the board unscathed.

* * *

The difference between **love** and **poison**?

 _Love simply kills you slower._

* * *

 **PART ONE:**

 _ **CROSSFIRE**_

" _Wolves don't lose sleep over the opinions of sheep._ "

* * *

Emeraude Toubia _as_ Isabella Voshkov

 **[** _Pre + Post Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ **]**


	2. One

**CHAPTER ONE:**  
 **миссия** | _Missiya_ |  Mission

" _She never plays by the rules because they're all such a bore,  
And lives by the mindset that **all's fair in love and war**._ "

* * *

 _TIBET, CHINA  
_ _FEBRUARY 5, 2006_

 **T** he first time that Isabella Emilia Voshkov and James Buchanan Barnes crossed paths, it was in a crowded, neon-lit nightclub owned by a man that they both had received orders from their organizations to interrogate and neutralize.

Or rather, the The Winter Soldier and The High Priestess had received the orders, seeing as both Hydra and Solaris had already wiped their respective assets of any sense of who they used to be.

The room was packed full of sweaty bodies all moving along to the pulse pounding beat, and the blinding strobe lights flashing throughout the club only served to add more tension to the smoky air. Several scantily-clad woman carried trays holding brightly colored drinks throughout the club, and it was safe to say that the majority of the room's occupants were intoxicated both metaphorically and literally off of the wild atmosphere and alcoholic beverages. In addition, the entire scene appeared to come straight out of modeling catalogue; with muscular men whose features looked chiseled from stone, and beautiful women whose short, tight clothing left little to the imagination. The entire nightclub was bursting in an adrenaline-fueled haze, every single nerve coming alive with each new movement and beat of the music. It was insanity, but it was the type of insanity that simultaneously made pulses race and inhibitions fall. It was primal yet alluring chaos at its best.

Within the heavy crowd, The Winter Soldier blended in. But while his movements may appear to be just the casual actions of another drunken clubgoer even to a well trained eye, in reality, every single muscle twitch and gesture he made were carefully calculated moves, designed to further him in his mission. His false body language and micro-expressions were all seamlessly prosecuted, and Hydra would accept nothing less than absolute perfection. He was a tool, designed to be used for his handlers purposes, and if he wasn't working properly... well. What use is a gun that can't fire with accuracy?

He was nothing more than a weapon, and weapons could always be replaced.

And so the Soldier worked with a lethal, precise efficiency, leaving no room for error. He was a ghost, and ghosts left no trace behind other than the havoc they wreaked on others. So perfect was his facade that a few of his undercover targets had even felt comfortable at his side, displaying signs of trust and safety in his presence. Until he inevitably killed them, that is. He was an actor, playing his predestined part in a macabre show. The Soldier felt no remorse at killing, but then again, he'd have to feel something other than freezing cold and excruciating pain to experience any emotions of the sort. He was merely a puppet, a mindless soldier, and no one was any the wiser to his given mission.

And then he saw her.

The instant that his icy blue stare met her dark hazel gaze, he knew that she had seen through his act. He was certain of this, because at that same moment, he had seen through the her own flawless facade.

The unknown woman in question was currently pressed back against a man that the Soldier recognized as Markus Alekai, the right hand man of his- and presumably her- target. Her hair was concealed expertly in a short platinum blonde wig, and if he had been anyone other than who he was, he would have never been able to tell that it wasn't her real hair. She was wearing a tight black trench coat with silver fastenings that only reached the half-way point of her thighs, as well as a pair of silver knee-length heeled boots. Her lips were colored a bright, tempting shade of crimson, and her eyes were lined with a dark black that made her eyes appear to have an almost cat-like glow in the flashing lights of the club. She was clearly gorgeous, and judging by the way that she was moving, she knew how to use it to her advantage. The Soldier was instantly on guard, despite the fact that his body language or facial features never faltered at the change.

Yes, this woman was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way that poisonous flowers often were; attractive to the eye with the sole purpose of luring those it had tempted into their graves.

It had been only a second or two since their eyes had locked, but the Soldier had been assessing her intently, and he knew that she had been doing the same. After that brief pause, though, her scarlet painted lips quirked up into a slight smirk a second before her eyes moved away from his as she twisted to whisper something in her dancing partner's ear. A moment later, the man's eyes lit up, and he grabbed her hand, beginning to leading her through the crowd. Just before the pair vanished from sight, the woman's gaze found his once more, giving him a devilish look.

In an instant, the Soldier was working his way through the mass of people as well, following the direction the pair had taken. Whoever she was, this woman was a threat to his mission, and she would need to be taken out like any other obstacle. Although, something told him that she wouldn't be an easy opponent to face.

Despite his quick response time, he soon lost track of both the woman and Markus in the sea of people. Luckily, the Soldier had a feeling that he knew exactly where they were headed.

Without breaking stride, he made his way over to one side of the club and walked through a curtained entryway that was well-disguised in the difficult light of the club. Anyone else would have either written the space off or missed the covered opening completely. However, he was far from simply another drunken clubgoer, and the Soldier knew that it led to a hallway containing a few rooms where his target's business was conducted.

And, apparently, the mysterious woman knew it as well.

As soon as he stepped past the curtains, the soldier's analyzing eyes saw four bodies lining the hallway. Three of them were unknown guards, all three slumped to the ground with carefully slit throats and their guns laying uselessly in their hands. The fourth corpse was Markus, his target's right hand man as well as the fool that had led the woman right to them. Despite the gruesome sight, the Soldier never hesitated in his stride, continuing down the hallway without another thought. In fact, the Soldier's only reaction to the carnage in front of him was to move a bit faster, knowing that the woman had to be close.

He had, after all, both seen and done much worse than this.

Suddenly, a gunshot sounded in his ears, and in a flash, the Soldier was at the end of the would not allow this woman to foil his mission. He burst through the door, eyes cold like steel and a gun in his hand.

Only to be greeted with the still corpse of his target laying cold in a chair with a single bullet hole directly in the middle of his forehead. A note was laying neatly on the desk in front of the body, and a single red lip print was placed on the corner of the paper alongside two words.

 **верховная жрица**

 _The High Priestess._


End file.
